Morning coffee was the best thing in the entire world if you believed Ian. It helped him get through his work days; Hell, he even enjoyed a good morning cup of coffee on his days off. Surely, there was no greater luxury in the world than coffee.
A car backfired outside, causing Ian to jump and spill coffee over his tee shirt. He cursed and quickly set the mug down to grab a towel. Ian did his best to wipe himself clean before stains or burns set in, but this was decidedly not a great start to the day.
He was a little jumpy because he’d been having more dreams of the lady. For some reason, those made him more paranoid than the normal horror media he was used to consuming. It was, admittedly, quite rare for the details of one dream to continue into further dreams, but Ian supposed that if he was focused on the lady so much in his writing that it wasn’t much of a surprise. He just wished that he could walk through his house without feeling like every shadow was moving just out of the corner of his eyes.
That evening, once the tedium of work was done, Ian opened a document to continue writing. He was only on chapter two, but it was getting easier for him to remember what the lady looked like in his dreams and that felt like just the escalation that he needed for a second chapter. It gave him chills just to think about it.
Her skin is alabaster-white, he wrote. For some reason, it’s hard to see her as anything but human when you look at her directly, but from the corner of your eye you can make out more details. What I mistook for short, voluminous hair may actually be two large curved horns that would put a (What was an animal with big horns?) bighorn sheep to shame. If you watch carefully, the curl and uncurl slightly to a continuous rhythm, as if she’s breathing.
Ian could write about these little details all day. It was stuff that was hard to remember if he focused on it, but letting his mind wander brought it all to the forefront. She was such an imposing figure and all the little inhuman details just make her all the more thrilling to think about.
A little while later, he wrote, She escorts me through hallways themselves taller than a two-story home. Glass windows depicting nightmarish demons flood the room with red light as she explains to me the wonders she wants to unleash on our world. I should be terrified, but her disarming smile makes my heart ache just thinking about her.
He did keep some personal details of his dreams to himself. It was very evident that, in his nightmares, his love of horror and his repressed sexual desires were getting a little mixed up. Again, he wished that he had a girlfriend who could be with him through his struggles. Where would Ian even begin to look for a woman as assertive as the lady in his dreams?
Once the new chapter was finished, Ian went to post it, only to discover that there was a new comment on the previous chapter. He pulled it up real quick to read. Ian didn’t recognize this commenter (he didn’t have the biggest fan base, so he could recognize most of his regular commenter’s usernames or profile pictures), but they mentioned enjoying the fact that the story was referencing recent events.
Ian wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, since he made up everything except for the global lights. Perhaps that’s all the commenter meant, or otherwise some details Ian had come up with coincidentally matched things going on in the real world. That wouldn’t surprise him; it was a big place out there and coincidences like that were fairly common. There was a reason movies had a disclaimer that similarities to real life people and events were coincidental.
Ian went to bed and woke up the next day feeling a little tired, as he always did after having a nightmare. Stranger still: there was a taste in his mouth that he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t quite fruity, it wasn’t quite savory, perhaps it was just a bit on the sour side. A strange little idea wormed its way out of the back of his mind: maybe Ian didn’t have the taste buds required to fully comprehend the true flavor.
What a weird thought; where had that come from?
It was finally Ian’s day off of work again. He took things easy, starting with morning coffee and then getting in a long, warm sower. Getting out and grabbing a towel, forced to contend with his body, Ian started to think that something might be wrong with him. He looked a little thin, his skin felt soft and brittle, and his muscles and bones were aching.
Was he ill or could this be malnourishment? Ian wasn’t as hungry these days as he used to be, and it was no good to force himself to eat more. If it was having an adverse effect on his body, though, then surely he needed to do something about it. Perhaps vitamin pills, or were those bunk? Ian didn’t know.
Did Ian even need to go to the store? Once he was dressed, Ian headed over to the kitchen to check the pantry; there was surprisingly little food left in there. When was the last time that Ian had gone shopping? Today was Wednesday, but only the first one of the month. Or was it the second? How long had he been having these nightmares again?
Maybe it was time to get out of the house.
He didn’t rush for the door, though. It was Ian’s day off and he’d had another nightmare the night before, so he wanted to get it down on paper while the dream was still fresh in his head. He booted up his computer, mulling the memories over in his head, then quickly got to work.
Ian wrote, Something you have to realize about the lady is that her skin isn’t consistent, though it’s not something you realize until she’s placed her hands on you or sat down beside you. Some of her skin is soft flesh, the same as you or I. Other parts, such as her hands or joints, are hard and chitinous, almost like an insect. The soft and hard segments blend together seamlessly, though. It took me so long to find a way to describe it.
The most interesting part of the dream, though, came a bit after the cuddling that Ian chose not to write about.
She brought me to a chamber that I can only loosely describe as a kitchen. In the center was a massive oven surrounded by a circle of stone tables each in the shape of an arc. Along the wall were skinned animals hanging from hooks. The room was lit by candles giving off light of various colors. Bones and herbs were scattered equally across shelves. It dawned on me then that I had seen no one but myself and the lady during my stay there, though signs of life were everywhere.
On one table as a chalice filled with a thick blue liquid. It was nearly the size of my head, but the lady—who is easily double my height—picked it up with ease. She held it to my mouth and told me I should drink. Eager to please her, for in my nightmares I have abandoned all rationality, I drank greedily. Drawing from the strange thought from that morning, Ian added, In my waking state, I feel like I simply do not have the taste buds necessary to fully appreciate the taste, but in my dream the flavor was all-encompassing.
I trust her so implicitly, though I know she’s not human. What spell does she have me under while I sleep? How long before it seeps into my waking thoughts as well?
Ian grinned, satisfied with his work. He silently thanked whatever demon was giving him these nightmares. They were doing all of the heavy lifting for him.
He never actually made it to the store that day, but convinced himself that it was fine; he had food for a few more days. That evening, Ian sat down with a new horror movie to treat himself for the good chapter he’d finished. It felt like a bad idea to be engaging with new horror media so close to bed, but Ian didn’t even believe in the supernatural, so he’d be fine.
What drew Ian to supernatural horror? There was definitely a thrill to it, but it didn’t scare him on a deep fundamental level the way more realistic horror did. It wasn’t even really the fear of being hurt. The mere idea that there was something much bigger than normal people, something that could wipe them out with little resistance, really drew Ian in.
The movie was good enough, but big studio horror movies didn’t pack the same punch as stuff made independently. Still, it kept Ian’s attention and gave him an excuse to drown in popcorn for a little bit.
The hard part came next: he still had to adjust the thermostat so he’d be able to sleep comfortably. Ian knew, in his heart, that there were no monsters or demons or supernatural killers outside of his room. Yet he remained stiffly glued to his chair, careful not to breathe too loud in case anything heard him.
Ian wanted nothing more than to be able to separate fiction from reality, but he was afraid of his own house! What was wrong with him? He knew that he was safe and that nothing was stopping him from getting up from his chair.
So he stood.
There was nothing to fear, he told himself, forcing his hand onto the doorknob. He started counting his breaths, and on five Ian turned the knob and opened the door a crack. No sound outside, nothing moving in the shadows. Ian opened the door a bit wider.
His breathing was ragged as he stepped out into the hallway. This was always such a tense experience and he didn’t know why! Shouldn’t Ian have learned not to watch scary videos before bed?! At the very least, he should change the thermostat first!
Ian walked up to the thermostat and hit the button to lower the temperature.
When he turned around, something tall was stepping around the corner into the hallway. A long face and antlers made of writing glowing worms, praying mantis blades instead of arms, millions of skittering legs! Ian turned and ran!
He burst into the kitchen, stumbling across the counter to grab a knife on his way to the back door. What was that thing?! Where had it come from?! Why hadn’t he noticed it before?! He could certainly hear it now! It was getting closer!
Ian grabbed at the back door and pulled, but it was locked. He fumbled with the lock, dropping the knife in the process. No sooner had he opened the door than he felt too long limbs grab him from behind!
Everything went dark as he screamed.
Ian was laying out on the grass, unsure of how he had gotten there. As the events of the previous few moments caught up with him, Ian cried out and stumbled to his feet. It was daytime. There was no monster in sight. He was in the backyard. How had he gotten there?
He was unhurt: his clothes were fine and there were no cuts or bruises. Had the night before really just been a nightmare? Ian didn’t remember falling asleep. And he wasn’t a sleepwalker, so how did a nightmare get him out on the back lawn?
For a while, Ian stood on the edge of the door frame, looking into the dark house. The monster was still plainly visible in his mind’s eye, looming over him and skittering across the floor. If it was still in there…
But monsters weren’t real.
Ian stepped inside to find the house a wreck. He’d knocked everything around on the counter the night before when he’d grabbed for the knife, which was still laying uselessly on the floor. The dining room table had been knocked aside but thankfully not overturned.
It could only have been a hallucination. Ian overdid it the night before and his imagination came up with something to punish him. He was responsible for the chaos in his house, not some fantasy creature. The tears in the couch fabric begged to disagree, but Ian ignored them.
He made his way to the bathroom, eager to get into the shower and wash the night away. What kind of doctor did Ian need to see in the wake of hallucinatory nightmares, because it felt like a therapist wasn’t going to be enough. A neurologist, maybe? Ian needed someone who could run a whole battery of tests on him, though they would probably only conclude that they had no idea what was wrong with him.
Going to the doctor had always been a miserable experience for Ian. Nothing made him feel less like a person and more like an experiment than being prodded and asked questions. He’d spent a lot of time sicker than he needed to be because he did not want to be in a room with someone who looked at him and saw a bill that they could add charges to.
As he undressed, it took Ian a few moments to realize that there was something off about his body. Patches of his skin were unusually dry, and getting real close to the mirror revealed them to look almost scaly. Weirder than that, each spot had the faintest blue tint to it.
This close to the mirror, something else was noticeable: the irises in Ian’s eyes were a little misshapen. How did that happen? How did someone’s iris change shape, let alone both of them? There was also a faint red tint to both of his eyes. That suggested sleep deprivation, right?
Ian got into the shower and started running water through his hair, only to realize that his hair was unusually thick. That was odd; he showered enough that his hair shouldn’t be matted or anything. Maybe Ian was just being oversensitive to perceived changes when in reality nothing was wrong.
Then he leaned back against the shower wall and felt a little nub of sensitive skin at the small of his back.
What the Hell was going on? Ian had no idea, other than the monster attack from the night before was either real or very close to being real. One thing was certain: he couldn’t go to a doctor now. No matter what, he couldn’t see a doctor—any doctor—and be treated like some kind of medical freak.
Whatever this way, he was stuck dealing with it on his own.
Okay, I'm really loving this. Thanks for the chapter!
Thanks for the chaps!
Scary